“Won’t help.”
“She said no?” Julie asked, frowning.
“Yeah. Be sure and spread it around: Winona turned her back on us.” She kissed Noah’s plump cheek and handed him off to Aurora, along with his diaper bag.
Noah went to his aunt happily, immediately playing with her beaded necklace.
“You want me to come with you?” Aurora asked. She’d made the same offer last night when Vivi Ann called her.
“I love you for offering, but no. I need to start doing things on my own. I have a feeling there’s going to be a lot of that in my future.” She started to leave.
Julie’s hand on her wrist stopped her. “Not everyone thinks he’s guilty,” she said.
“Thanks, Jules.”
All the way to Olympia, Vivi Ann practiced what she would say, how she would convince a stranger to take her husband’s case. At the first address, she strode into the squat brick building, gave the receptionist her name, and waited impatiently. Almost twenty minutes later, James Jensen came out to meet her.
She smiled brightly when he finally appeared. “Hello, Mr. Jensen. Thank you for seeing me on such short notice.”
“When one is looking for a criminal defense attorney, it’s often a rush. Here, come into my office and sit down.”
For the next twenty minutes, Vivi Ann gave him the facts of the case, at least as much as she knew. She was careful to be professional and unemotional; she didn’t want to look like one of those women who stupidly believe the best of their husbands. When she’d exhausted the limited facts, she talked about what a wonderful husband and father Dallas was. Then she waited for him to speak.
At last, he looked up.
She had waited for that look. Now he would ask if Dallas was innocent and she’d nod and tell him how she knew that to be true.
“So, Mrs. Raintree. I would need a thirty-five-thousand-dollar retainer. Then we could get started.”
“A . . . what?”
“My fees. In advance. Not all of them, of course; just enough to get started. A case like this requires a lot of manpower—private detectives, lab work, motions. The discovery alone is often mind-numbing.”
“You haven’t asked if he did it.”
“And I won’t.”
“I don’t have that kind of money.”
“Ah. I see.” His flat, pudgy palm made a muffled thumping sound on the wooden desk. It reminded her of a closing door. “There are some good public defenders.”
“But they won’t care like a private attorney would. Like you would.”
He lifted his hands, palm up. “Such is the system. I will hope that you can get the money together, Mrs. Raintree. From what you’ve told me, and what I’ve read in the newspapers, your husband—who, as you know, is no stranger to American jurisprudence—is in serious trouble.” He stood up, shuffled her to the door with the ease of one who was experienced in this action. “Best of luck to you,” he said, and closed the door between them.
In the next four hours, five attorneys told her the same thing. Their offices and personalities were different, but the deal was always the same: a large retainer up front or no lawyer.
The last lawyer she’d seen, a lovely young woman who seemed genuinely interested in Dallas’s fate, had said it most clearly. “I can’t take on a case of this complexity for free, Mrs. Raintree. I’ve got children to feed and a mortgage to pay. I’m sure you understand. I’d be happy to handle the arraignment, but if you want me to file a notice of appearance on behalf of your husband, I’ll need a substantial retainer. At least twenty-five thousand dollars.”
There was only one option left: she needed to find twenty-five thousand dollars.
She drove home from Olympia at twilight, turning onto the Canal road just as the last rays of sunlight were polishing the winter waters to a silvery sheen and the snow in the mountains had turned lavender-gray.
When she pulled up in front of her father’s house it was full-on dark. She found him in his study, with a drink in his hand, reading a newspaper. All the way home from Olympia she’d practiced what she’d say, how she’d say it, but now none of that mattered. He was her father and she needed his help. It was really that simple.
She sat down in the chair opposite him. “I need twenty-five thousand dollars, Dad. You could take out a second mortgage on the ranch, and Dallas and I would pay you back. With interest.”
He stared down at his newspaper so long she started to worry. It took all her self-control to sit there, waiting patiently. Her whole world hung in the balance, but she knew not to prompt him. He might be a little taciturn sometimes and judgmental, but most of all, he was a Grey, and in the end that would be his answer.